


We Are Who We Are

by Gallicenae



Series: Misc Fic Gifts [14]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mild Angst, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age), tavern bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallicenae/pseuds/Gallicenae
Summary: After the Breach is sealed, Varric makes his way back to Kirkwall only to realize he can't quite pick up where he left off.





	We Are Who We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiranInBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiranInBlue/gifts).



> Commissioned fic for KiranInBlue who asked for a family dynamic for Varric and Cole. Cole is neither more human nor more spirit, but a continuation of what he was upon originally joining the Inquisition.

Varric settled into his chair beside the fire in his room at the Hanged Man. Hawke had granted him use of her estate, but he felt more at home here - though it hadn’t been his home for some time. Varric could tell the tavern keep had let out his rooms in his absence, and while it made sense, it was no less unsettling. He’d stayed in Skyhold long enough for Cassandra to be named Divine and take over her duties in Orlais. After that, well, everyone found a reason to move on, to try and pick up where they had left off before the Breach. It all felt like changing out one coat for another - familiar, but worn, no longer fitting the way he remembered.

“Bianca, ol’ girl,” he brushed his fingers along the wood of his crossbow, “I think our adventures are going to be a lot smaller from here on out.”

Varric reached for the mug of ale sitting on his table and propped his feet up in its place. There wasn’t anything wrong with being back in Kirkwall, but the memories of all that had happened here… 

_“Red and aching, like a wound that’s festered under its dressings. He thought power was important until he lost the mind to have it. Like you almost did. Like you would have without her, without this place. The red is darker here, brown like the flattened earth of the streets clinging to old boots warming by the fire.”_

Cole flicked a piece of dried mud from between the tracks of Varric’s shoes. He sat cross-legged upon the table, as if it was the most natural thing in all the world to show up out of thin air and give voice to the thoughts even Varric hadn’t the words to write. 

“You sure you don’t want a chair, kid?”

“Tables are nice. No one can pull them out from under you.”

Varric nodded and finally took his drink. It gave him a few seconds to think, but he also knew it wouldn’t matter since he was sitting across from the one person who could actually read minds. It was an interesting way to have a conversation. Though, to the kid’s credit, he was fairly good about waiting for Varric to say something first. Cole had phrased it as Varric’s joy once, being the one responsible for telling things. He’d quite liked that.

“What brings you to Kirkwall?”

“You were sorry to go when everyone left.” Cole took his hat off and gingerly set it down next to him. “You felt empty to be last. Then the castle felt empty. And I… I think I felt empty, too.”

Cole’s words hit Varric hard; the memory of all those mixed emotions upon leaving Skyhold, the Inquisition, his friends, ate away at him. He had told himself he’d outstayed his welcome, though the Inquisitor and her advisors would have never said such a thing. He had told himself he needed to get back to business in Kirkwall and make sure Sebastian wasn’t adding to the mess the city was still recovering from. He had told himself his book would never be finished if he had his favorite distractions around him. Varric had told himself a great many things. And here was a spirit-human hybrid driving the point home in far fewer words - he felt empty.

He raised his mug, a small recognition of the fact that Cole was right.

“I don’t want to be.”

Varric didn't miss a beat. “You’re honest, kid. That’s better than being right.”

“You would rather be hurt by the truth than soothed with a lie?” Cole tilted his head, considering Varric in the dull light of the tavern. “Why is that better?”

The edges of Varric’s lips came up in a small but melancholy grin. “It reminds us that we care about something, that we have the _capability_ of caring. If we didn’t have that, nothing we ever did would matter.”

“I care.”

“You sure do.”

“If I didn’t care, would I still matter? Would I still… be me?”

Cole could have given the best scholars a run for their money when it came to debating the question of existence and purpose. He was simply what he was, and that would be exactly how he’d explain it to them. Varric liked the boy’s way of thinking, his frequent tangential trains, even if he didn’t always understand them. They were poetic - stories told in flashes rather than pages.

“Of course you would still matter.”

“But I wouldn’t be… me?”

Varric set his drink aside and shifted in his chair. “Chuckles would say your caring is what makes you you. He would would probably mention how a spirit of compassion can be nothing less than a spirit of compassion. But kid, you’re…” 

How was he supposed to phrase this? Varric believed in his bones that there was more to someone than a loose bundle of behaviors and emotions, at least he wanted to believe that. He wanted to tell Cole that he would still be himself if he didn’t care, but would he? Would any of them?

“It’s alright, Varric.” Cole smiled at him. “I am me for as long as I know I am supposed to be me.”

It took Varric a moment to register what Cole had said, and when it did, he chuckled and picked his beer back up. The kid was downright pleased with himself at the admission, and it warmed Varric’s heart to hear the joy in his voice. “I guess that’s all any of us can ever hope to expect from ourselves.”


End file.
